


let this fool rush in

by daydreamsago



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dancing, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Sharing a Bed, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamsago/pseuds/daydreamsago
Summary: Humans call it crushing. Connor understands why. He feels compromised by these newfound feelings, as if he's all strung out with nowhere to turn. He begins to relate to the aged love songs, listening to them when the moon is high in the sky and Hank is fast asleep in his bedroom.





	let this fool rush in

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a drabble and quickly transformed into something a lot longer. i hope you enjoy :)

Instead of slipping into stasis for the night like he should, Connor begins a new routine of studying music. The effect it has on humans fascinates him; the way they seem to integrate it into every part of their lives. It plays in stores, lobbies, waiting rooms, and taxi cabs. There’s joyful songs, sad songs, and everything in between.

Connor has discovered his favorite among the plentiful genres: old love songs.

There’s just something about the crooning voices and elegant string arrangements that stir something within him. Perhaps it’s an emotion that he cannot put a name to, for it is much too unfamiliar. He spends hours analyzing these songs, learning everything there is to know about the lyrics and the singers who deliver them.

He scans all of Hank’s jazz records and doesn’t tell him. Music can be quite personal to humans, he has discovered, and some seldom share the songs they surround themselves with when they’re alone. Hank is quite a private person—Connor doesn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.

Music isn’t the only thing that he’s fixated on, and coming to terms with that is more difficult than he thought it would be. Some time after the revolution, after things start to settle down and return to normal again, Connor begins to see Hank in a new light. He finds that he gets strangely nervous in his presence. The thirium in his body feels a few degrees warmer than usual, and his processors slow down a significant amount. He can’t focus at work when Hank’s sitting across from him, bright blue eyes settled on his computer screen and brows furrowed with thought.

Humans call it crushing. Connor understands why. He feels compromised by these newfound feelings, as if he’s all strung out with nowhere to turn. He begins to relate to the aged love songs, listening to them when the moon is high in the sky and Hank is fast asleep in his bedroom.

He tells no one, keeps his feelings all to himself, like a dirty secret. Glances and accidental brushes of the hand will have to do for now.

 

Hank starts to notice something’s off almost immediately. Since becoming deviant, Connor hasn’t been the best at hiding his emotions. He’s an open book, his demeanor written all over his face.

He’s currently staring at Hank; warm eyes trained on him with little intent present. It’s like the life left him, like Connor’s inner self has departed from his body and is a million miles away.

“Connor,” Hank calls. He lifts an arm and snaps his fingers close to his face. “Anybody home?”

The action startles the android. He blinks rapidly, returning to the present. “Y-Yes, my apologies. I was just thinking about this case,” Connor lies.

“Jesus, you were starting to worry me,” Hank sighs out. He watches him for a moment, and senses that something isn’t right. “You’d tell me if there’s something wrong with you, yeah?”

“Of course I would, you’re my partner,” he tells him, though it’s not entirely the truth, given his current situation.

Hank looks away, still a bit concerned. “Okay, just makin’ sure.”

 

As time progresses, Connor’s feelings grow more intense. He wants to spend every waking hour with Hank, glued to his side like a lost puppy. To everyone else at the precinct, it appears to be annoying, but Hank soon discovers he doesn’t mind it. He once thought Connor to be a nuisance, just another roadblock keeping him from accomplishing his work. Things changed, and quickly.

Because Connor became important to him, ever since that long embrace in front of the Chicken Feed all those months ago. He helped to fill his home with life again after he moved in, inspiring Hank to change many of his bad habits and become a better version of himself. He had given him a reason to get out of bed in the morning, a reason to get to work on time. Connor changed his life, though he won’t openly admit such a thing.

Soon enough, Hank’s red in the face when Connor looks at him. His heart stutters when they bump into each other, when they brush against each other on accident while working on crime scenes. Hank’s never been a handsy guy, but something about Connor makes him want to touch him. He finds himself wanting him, really _wanting_ him. Maybe it’s the loneliness nestled deep inside his chest, that sense of alienation that he’s held within for far too long. Or maybe it’s just because Connor is too damn sweet. Hank can’t tell anymore. He can’t imagine not having him around, now that he has him.

So it’s only natural for him to feel bad that Connor’s on the couch at night, spending the later hours all alone in the living room.

“Goodnight, Hank,” Connor voices, getting comfortable on the sofa with a warm blanket, though he doesn’t need it. He’s following his nightly routine of staying up and letting beautiful melodies play inside his head.

Hank has other plans.

“Goodnight,” he replies, but he doesn’t make his way down the hall like he usually would. He hesitates for a moment, looking at Connor. He doesn't know how to say ‘ _come to bed with me’_ without it sounding hopelessly desperate. “Don’t... you get bored out here, alone all night?”

Connor stares back, a soft smile on his face. “No,” he says simply. “Well, I wouldn’t say bored,” he adds, quieter, “lonely, maybe.” He looks away from Hank, and down at his hands.

Something about the word  _lonely_ has Hank’s heart breaking. He detects the honesty in his voice; there’s a good chance Connor’s telling the truth.

“You know you don’t have to stay out here if you don’t want to.” Hank runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit.

“Are you suggesting I join you?” Connor asks, but he already knows the answer. His thirium pump beats erratically against his chassis at the mere thought.

Hank breathes out—the noise he emits is half sigh, half laugh. “Yeah, I mean, if you’re cool with that-”

“Of course,” Connor interrupts, a little too excitedly.

Hank turns around, heading for the bedroom, and hiding a smile. He feels like a giddy teenager, granted permission to sleep over at a friend’s house: there’s adrenaline in his veins, for fuck’s sake. He knows how ridiculous that is, yet the feeling can’t be wrong if it’s making him this way. Connor’s right behind him, the LED that still resides on his temple flashing blue in the darkness of the hallway.

Crawling into bed, Hank pulls the covers over himself, while Connor stands there, looking rather lost in front of the bed. Hesitating. That damn LED cycles to yellow, then switches back to blue again.

“Climb in, I don’t bite.” Hank pats the empty space next to him, watching as Connor awkwardly slips into the bed and covers himself with the thick comforter. He thanks whoever’s listening that it’s dark, which hides the tint on his cheeks.

Connor rests his head on the soft pillow, enjoying how safe he feels in this moment. They’re inches apart; the distance a bit uncomfortable, for they’re both on the edges of the mattress. Hank is afraid to move any closer, afraid he’ll freak the android out and make a complete ass of himself in the process. For a few moments that somehow feel like an eternity, they face each other, saying nothing and thinking everything.

It’s Connor that breaks the silence, and really, it’s no surprise to Hank. “Would you mind if I move a bit closer?”

Hank reckons he may die, right then and there, in his own bed—the bed that Connor is also in. “Whatever makes you the most comfortable.” His voice comes out smooth, and yet Hank still feels like the Earth has stopped spinning.

Connor scoots closer, closer than Hank expected him to. Suddenly, he’s aware of every breath he takes. He’s right there, Hank could just reach out and-

“Goodnight,” the RK800 voices, pulling Hank out of his trance. 

“Night, Connor.” Hank tries to relax, because at this rate, he can probably sense his heart beating a million miles a minute. They’re so _close_.

It’s probably creepy, but he watches as his eyes shut. His face is quite pretty, even in the dimness of the night. Hank can tell when he enters stasis, because his expression fades to something blank and his LED dulls to a very faint blue. He’s tired, tired enough to fall asleep right now, though it’s much more fun to look at Connor.

Hank shuts his eyes too after a few minutes. He’s still in the edge of the bed, too scared to move any closer to the android asleep in front of him. It’s not long before he drifts off to dreamland, with the remnants of a smile on his face.

 

Connor wakes up in the middle of the night, since he only sets his stasis duration for no more than four hours at a time. He finds he doesn’t need much rest, and tonight, he really doesn’t want to sleep; not when he alternatively could be conscious in Hank’s bed.

A quick scan reveals that Hank is in REM sleep. Connor can’t help but watch the older man, admiring how his face appears relaxed, with no signs of stress or intense emotion. Peaceful, perhaps that’s the right word. Where there is peace, there is always vulnerability.

He smiles to himself. Hank feels comfortable enough to let him see this side of him, let him into his private life a little more. It’s very intimate, and Connor notices a burning sensation in his chest at the thought. He feels close to Hank; they’re only getting closer as the weeks go by.

Not only are they close platonically, but right now, physically too. Hank has drifted from his spot on the very edge of the bed, maybe because the mattress has a dip in the center from years of him sleeping there. The why doesn’t interest Connor, because all he’s thinking about is how close they are, and how easy it would be to just lean forward a little...

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s gravitating towards Hank’s sleeping form. He lets his head rest upon his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the melodic rise and fall of his breath. This moment is one he wishes he could encapsulate himself inside forever—such a lovely life that would be.

Hank stirs slightly, which brings Connor out of his little fantasy. He expects him to wake, but he doesn’t, and instead of pulling away like Connor anticipates, he throws an arm around his frame.

It’s like heaven, being in his arms. Even if it’s an accident.

He slips back into stasis, warm and content.

 

The morning sun coming through the window wakes Hank up before anything else. As he’s coming to, he realizes it’s Sunday. He also realizes that his arm is around something solid. Or someone.

 _Connor_.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he looks down and sees his head on his chest. How did this even happen?

“Con?” he tries, freaking out inside. “Connor?” He shakes him lightly.

The android in question opens his eyes, blinking rapidly as he awakens. He looks at Hank, eyes already on him, _awake._ He remembers the incident in the middle of the night and... _oh_.

“I’m sorry, Hank, I don’t know how I managed this... I-”

“Hey, um, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.” Hank suddenly feels bad, and as Connor starts to back away from him, he stops him, grabbing his shoulders.

Connor thinks he may be dreaming, till he realizes he doesn’t dream. “You don’t?”

“Not at all,” Hank replies, and it’s the truth. He wouldn’t be opposed to waking up like this every day. He looks into the deep brown eyes that are glued to him; they’re full of something unreadable.

When Connor smiles, Hank is relieved. It’s one of those awkward half smiles that he sometimes does, but it’s quite endearing in Hank’s eyes. “Good,” he starts, “I don’t mind it either.”

 _Guess that’s settled_ , Hank thinks to himself. Connor leans forward and returns to his former position, wordlessly.

 

No more are those lonely nights on the couch alone, because Hank insists that Connor sleeps in his bed. He doesn’t have to twist his arm to get him to agree; he loves being close to him, more than anything.

But Connor still wants to spend time with his favorite songs at night, yearning to hear the lovely melodies and sweet voices again. Maybe he doesn’t have to listen to them alone.

Hank’s records are in the living room, where they’ve been since that first time Connor was in his house—that crazy night in which he entered through the broken window. It’s funny to think about now, even if it wasn’t so funny then. He smiles about it, while flipping through the records, searching for something good to play on a Wednesday at six in the evening.

He pulls out a worn Frank Sinatra album as Hank comes up behind him.

“I haven’t played that one in a while.” He grins subtly. “Forgot I had it, actually. Give it a spin.”

He hands the record to Hank. “I’m afraid LP records are way before my time. I don’t know how they work.” Connor could easily use his computer brain to figure it out, but that wouldn’t feel as organic.

Hank chuckles, and Connor loves the sound. “Alright, let me show you.”

He takes the record out of its sleeve, setting Sinatra down on top of the left speaker. He puts the record on the turntable, then places the needle down. Music begins to fill the living room.

“Just like that,” Hank says. He notices Connor’s face light up, which sends a warm feeling straight through his entire body; it’s evident on his face.

That feeling, Hank has discovered, is like a drug. It’s like a high, an euphoria that floods his veins and paints the world in a brand new color. It makes him do things he wouldn’t normally do, risky things.

“This song is good for dancing,” the words are tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. He holds out a hand to Connor, his body controlled by that insane _feeling_.

At least Connor is smiling, beaming at him as if he strung the stars in the sky. “I... I wasn’t built to dance.” He takes Hank’s hand anyway. They drift towards the center of the room.

“And I wasn’t _born_ to dance, so you’ve got nothin’ to worry about,” Hank replies. Connor’s hand is warm in his—he unfolds his own so they’re palm to palm, then intertwines their fingers together.

He swears he sees wonder in those deep brown eyes he loves so much.

His other hand finds Connor’s waist. It takes a moment, but Connor soon squeezes his hand, and lifts his other one to rest upon Hank’s shoulder. He can feel the thirium rise to his cheeks, wondering how long it will take before his entire face is tinted bright blue.

They sway to the upbeat tune: _Nice ‘N’ Easy._ Connor already knows all the lyrics. He figures that’s worth mentioning.

“I know this song,” he says. “Before I... started sleeping with you, I’d listen to old music all night.”

Hank raises a brow. “Really? So that’s what you were doing.”

Connor looks away, Hank’s gaze too much for him to handle. “I like this kind of music, old love songs.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

The song ends, and another one begins. Connor recognizes it as the hit  _Fools Rush In._ It’s a special one to him, perhaps one of his favorites out of all the old songbooks. He feels his internal temperature rising, and notices the hand that’s holding Hank’s is turning white, his skin receding away. And all of a sudden, it’s too much.

Hank catches a glimpse of their hands before Connor yanks his away, pulling apart from him and backing away slowly. He makes contact with the wall, appearing as though he’s being cornered by some invisible force.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” Hank asks, frantic.

The look on his face offers enough explanation. He appears to be in pain, or the android equivalent of pain, perhaps. His LED is violently flashing red, causing Hank great concern. He crosses the room to get to him, and when he lays a hand upon his shoulder, he realizes what the problem is.

“Holy shit, Con, you’re burning up.” He’s not hot enough to make him draw his hand away, but it’s definitely noticeable.

“I’m afraid I’m overheating,” Connor speaks, his voice low. His eyes are looking everywhere but at Hank, darting from the floor to the ceiling. He’s being bombarded with warning messages in his line of vision.

Hank doesn’t know what to do; he’s never seen this happen with any android before, let alone his own partner. “Fuck, let me help-”

“ _No_ , I’m fine!”

Connor’s still not meeting his eyes and everything feels like it’s ending just as rapidly as it started. Hank backs away, watching as his LED swirls to yellow.

“Didn’t you say earlier that you’d tell me if something was up?” Hank finds himself asking, because it’s obvious that he’s not fine in the slightest.

His eyes close. Hank becomes aware that the music is still playing in the background, the song flowing from the speakers. _Open up your heart and let this fool rush in._ Hank doesn’t want to think about the lyrics right now, but he can’t help it.

He thinks Connor is going to ignore him, a few moments pass before he replies: “This is... different.”

“How so?”

He opens his eyes again. This time, they make contact with Hank’s own. “It requires a confession, and the outcome could be detrimental to our partnership.”

Hank’s heart is in his throat. A million thoughts run through his head all at once. He doesn’t know what to think of this. “Oh,” he sighs out, afraid of saying the wrong thing. “Whatever it is... you can say it. You’re safe with me.”

 _Safe_. Connor feels himself cooling down, the heat leaving him as the minutes pass. But Hank is still impossibly close, with his hand still resting on his shoulder. They’re face to face. The distance could easily be eliminated; they could be joined at the lips in one move.

And one move is all it takes.

Connor is the one to initiate. He leans forward after the words leave Hank’s lips, catching them in a soft kiss. It’s brief, yet so tender and sweet that it makes Hank dizzy. There it is again, that feeling: _euphoria_. When they part, Connor’s LED is blue, as well as the rest of his face.

Hank lets his hand drop from his shoulder to his waist, pulling him much closer. “I can’t believe this.” He’s smiling from ear to ear, the happiest he’s been in a very long time.

Connor grabs his free hand, and this time, lets the skin retract with no shame. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Hank replies, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “So, where were we?”

The rest of their night is filled with mediocre dancing, Frank Sinatra, and plenty of kisses. It’s heaven when they go to bed together, knowing that this is only the start of something wonderful.


End file.
